


The song of fire

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He is holding Kento’s wrist, for once without the thick leather wristband Fuma hasn’t seen off since some months ago, Kento’s palm is facing up. And the scars and half healed cuts are still there no matter how many times he tries to blink them away.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Far behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [And to L for her bravery](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=And+to+L+for+her+bravery).



> **Trigger warning** : This fanfiction deals with **self-harm** so please don't read it if the theme bothers or distubs you. It's not a self-harm glorification piece and it shouldn't be considered as such. I tried to tackle this in the most delicate way possible, but it is a sensible topic, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> Thank you, Mandita, for forcing this fic out of me. You helped me so much I should really quote you as co-author. You are a rock star <3.

All along, the signs were there. All of them.

Kento’s obsession with his skin not being white enough, with his voice not being good enough, with him not being good enough; Kento’s three hundred crunches a night, every night, even after concerts or during finals; the way he was so perfectionist about everything he did; the way he was hyper aware of every movement of his own body, even when the cameras were off.

But Kento had always seemed so in control, so on top of everything. 

In retrospective, that should have been a sign too. 

But there is no point in dwelling on regret. Even though the truth is blatant before Fuma’s eyes right now.

He is holding Kento’s wrist, for once without the thick leather wristband Fuma hasn’t seen off since some months ago, Kento’s palm is facing up. And the scars and half healed cuts are still there no matter how many times he tries to blink them away.

“What is this?” Fuma repeats, because he isn’t sure Kento heard him the first time, isn’t sure he managed to force the words out the first time.

Kento tries to pry his hand away forcefully, and he’s become strong, stronger than Fuma and he knows it, but somehow Fuma manages to not let him get free.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Kento hisses, but there’s an edge of desperation there because Kento doesn’t curse. Ever. 

“Are you…?” Fuma begins, but is unable to finish the sentence, as he raises his eyes to look at Kento’s and all the emotions there take him aback. 

It’s distraction enough for Kento to break free, and he reaches for his shirt almost frantically then puts it on, effectively covering his arms.

“None of your damned business,” Kento says, but now there is more of himself there, even though his eyes are sad and pain makes them glow.

Kento grabs his bag and exits the room without looking back even once, and Fuma is left alone, pondering, wondering about the source of the deep anguish he feels.

***

It’s cold and dark and he shouldn’t be wandering the desolated streets of the city alone and barely disguised, but he can’t really help it. He gave up sleep earlier as a futile enterprise and discarded all other activities he was able to think of one by one.

It isn’t the injuries he remembers, shocking as they might have been against Kento's otherwise soft skin. Fuma can’t get his mind to stop thinking about Kento’s eyes. When had they turned so sad and sorrowful? And how had Fuma managed to drift apart enough for never noticing this was happening till now?

To be fair that hasn't been exclusively his fault. It had been a slow process, actually. Work, university, drama filming; everything combined pulling them apart. It had been so gradual. He still can’t pinpoint the exact moment Kento stopped texting him back. 

And although he hadn’t gone down without a fight, what else could he have done? It wasn’t like he could force Kento to be his friend, and he wasn’t about to beg for attention. After talking and discussing things with Kento once too many a time without results he had just stopped trying.

It had hurt. Like hell. But that was something he was neither ready nor prone to accept in front of others. He wasn't a big fan to accept it himself either.

It made him feel helpless and he hated that feeling. So he had turned it all into resentment. And the gap between Kento and him had turned wider. Months without interaction outside of work. They were civil to each other, but that was it. Even Marius had asked once if everything was all right, and Fuma had just smiled, trying to be reassuring. 

But, as it turned out, not everything was all right, not even okay. Everything is as fucked up as it could be and there’s no way Fuma is catching any sleep tonight.

He doesn't understand it, can't wrap his mind around it, can’t find any explanation for this and no matter how quickly he walks he can’t escape this hollow sense of guilt.

The only thing that is certain is the anguish in his heart, that protective instinct he always had regarding Kento screaming inside him to do something. Anything. It’s like all the bitterness inside him just melted away leaving only raw nerve endings behind, and everything just hurts.

And the empty streets offer no comfort.

***

“We have to talk,” is the first thing Fuma tells Kento when he finally finds him, in an NHK Hall corridor of all places, because timing be damned. No hello, no superfluous civil pleasantries. He is pissed.

Kento didn’t return his phone calls, didn’t answer his mails and the only reason Fuma didn’t go to Kento’s apartment was because he was absolutely sure Kento wouldn’t open the door for him.

“No, we don’t.” Kento’s eyes are those of a trapped animal, frightened, searching for escape routes all around him, but ready to attack at the same time.

Had things been this wrong all along?

“Kento… please…”

Something happens in those eyes then, and Fuma doesn’t understand the trigger until the taste of the foreign word sinks in on his mouth. _Kento_.

“Fuma…” Kento whispers, and it tugs painfully at Fuma’s soul, the grief in Kento’s stare. “Don’t do this.”

Fuma can’t deal with the landslide, with all the little emotions that make his blood freeze and boil, and that annoying sting in his eyes that he refuses to believe are impending tears. So he turns into what is his default state by now.

“Stop fucking pushing me away,” he hisses, voice raspy and low, a lot more aggression than Fuma thought he had inside seeping into it. 

“I’m not…” Kento’s expression is too damn perfect surprised to be real, and by now he should have learned that he can’t fool Fuma, not this easily, never mind how apart they have become. 

“Don’t you dare deny it, Kento,” Fuma cuts him off. His voice is rising and he couldn’t care less, it’s like a breaking dam, everything just pouring out. The hallway is suddenly deserted and Fuma could curse at all the faint hearted juniors, and some sempai, probably hiding in the corners, but he is too mad to even mind them. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“This is not the place, Fuma, please,” Kento says, quietly, perfect control and calm, unshakeable _Kenty_ , and this is worse than a text message without answer, worse than a closed door and the silence ever after. This is Kento shutting him off so absolutely that the pain he feels is physical.

“When then?” Fuma’s voice cracks and he hates it. He wants to scream, he wants to throw a tantrum, he wants to shake Kento until Kento makes everything all right again, until he erases the last eternal hours, the last eternal months, until they can be as close as they always were. “Where is the _god dammed_ place, Kento? Tell me, please. When you don’t pick up your fucking phone? When you don’t reply to my mails? We need to fucking talk, damn it!”

“Stop fucking _cursing_ at every sentence!” Kento finally snaps and Fuma could laugh, but he is sure if he starts laughing now he will also break down and cry.

He has missed this, so much, the simple interaction, the simple contact, even if it’s for fighting; and it makes him madder at Kento for taking all this away from him, for suffering alone, without reaching out to him, for not leaning on him, not talking to him. For not letting Fuma protect him.

“I only want to understand…” Fuma whispers after a while, and his voice sounds all too small in the seemingly infinite space around them, this deserted hallway and the entire void between them.

“I…” Kento begins, lowering his head. He has never seemed so fragile, and Fuma only wants to close this stupid distance and hug him. But then Kento breathes deeply and looks at him, all the turmoil still there, tenfold. “I can’t do this…” He says, and storms past Fuma and into the dressing rooms.

The hallway returns to its usual activity in no time, and Fuma wishes he could yell at every one of the boys that pass by and pretend not to stare at him, at everyone that tries to pretend nothing just happened. 

And Kento is right, this wasn’t the place or the time, and knowing it doesn’t make anything go away. He still wants to punch someone. Probably himself.

A warm hand over his shoulder interrupts his self loath run, though, and he turns around to see Yamada Ryosuke, still in street clothes.

“Do you have a moment, Fuma-kun?” Yamada asks, and the way he says it, as if it was really a _question_ , as if Fuma could refuse a sempai wanting to talk to him, makes him furious again.

“Yes, of course,” he answers, but it feels tight and scratchy.

Yamada turns on his heels and leads him through some corridors and stairs, till they reach a prompts storage room that looks like it’s barely used. So, the conversation is not official, and that is puzzling enough for Fuma to cool down a little.

“If I am going to be scolded for being unprofessional…” Fuma begins anyway, because he sees no other reason for this, as much off the record as it might be.

Yamada’s soft chuckle interrupts him then, and Fuma looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time since he approached him on the hallway. A little sweaty and a little fidgety. All along awkward. 

“I wanted to talk to you about Kento-kun, actually,” Yamada says, scratching his nose, and the nervous gesture is all that stops Fuma from grabbing Yamada by the collar and make himself probably be put on hiatus.

“There is nothing to talk about, not with you,” Fuma’s voice is rising again. It feels good to have someone to leash out all his aggression at, someone who is not Kento, someone who doesn’t make him feel guilty, even though he knows he is being an ass.

“Fuma-kun…” Yamada’s quiet, almost sweet voice grates on Fuma’s nerves to no end and he actually takes a step toward him, hiatus be damned; Shori would probably get a solo album and at least _someone_ will be happy in all this fucking mess. Yamada just sighs and looks intently at him. “It’s all right, I _know_.”

And it’s too much.

“It’s really nice that someone knows something, because I don’t have a fucking clue about anything and everyone is being fucking cryptic or not even cryptic and not talking at all and…” Fuma lets out almost without pausing to breathe. He is getting breathless when Yamada unexpectedly hugs him, cutting him off.

And it all just comes out, all the tears and the fear and the frustration, and the helplessness of not being enough; all the loneliness. Fuma finds himself clinging to a very awkward Yamada, who seems to not really know what to do, so he just pats his shoulder as Fuma cries, and cries.

***

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Fuma asks eternities later, when he finally stops. He is sitting cross legged on the floor, his gaze fixed on some stain on the tiles just past his shoe. 

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Yamada’s voice reaches him from above, where he is perched on a table, one of his legs under him, the other dangling over the edge of the table.

"Did you talk to him? Did he tell you...?" _Why did he want to die, why did he push me away so he could run away?_ The words fade before Fuma can force them past his throat.

"No, I didn't talk to him," Yamada answers, softly. His voice sounds a little embarrassed when he continues. "I... know he admires me... a bit," Yamada says, his voice shy, like this isn't the understatement of the millennium. Fuma barely manages not to snort. "I think it would have been worse if he'd hear something from me."

“He is fucking trying to kill himself!” Fuma snaps, and the protective instinct is back in full force so fast that Fuma can’t even analyze where does it come from or why does it hurt so much. “You should have said something… done something!” 

“He is not trying to kill himself.” The way Yamada says it makes Fuma look at him.

"But... have you seen...?"

“I had my suspicions but... yeah. I have seen."

Fuma doesn’t inquire further into why or where or how. He doesn't really want to know. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation either, but at least someone is telling him things. 

“Then I don’t understand,” he says, defeat more than irritation in his tone.

“This... is not a quest for death, Fuma-kun, and most definitely is not a craving for pain,” Yamada says, lowering his eyes and looking fidgety again. He is playing with the hem of his plaid shirt, watching his fingers twist it like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “Most of the time is a way to escape from pain, actually. And maybe it’s a cry for help.”

There’s something in the scratchy quality of his voice, in the blatant honesty of his words, which makes Fuma add one plus one. He eyes Yamada’s wrists searching for some kind of telltale sign, but then he notices Yamada’s other hand absentmindedly rubbing the uppermost area of his tight and knows he will find none, not visible for him at least.

“You…?” Fuma feels a little awkward for asking, but he figures out if Yamada brought him here to talk, these kinds of questions are fair game; even if he doesn’t get to articulate them properly.

“Stopping is difficult, and hard, and…” Yamada lets his head drop, stares pointedly at his sneakers. "Look... I'm not about being some kind of fucked up poster boy for shit but... I’m not sure Kento-kun can make it out of it alone. I doubt anyone can."

"I want to help him,” Fuma says, thin and tight, fisting his hands in frustration. “I just don’t know how…”

“Maybe…” Yamada begins, but pauses. He clears his throat before looking up, and he is blushing a bit when Fuma sees his face. “Maybe you have to figure out your feelings about him first?”

“My… what?!”

“I… I’m sorry. I know I may be out of line but…” Yamada is sweating, and clearly this is being difficult for him, like he knows this is none of his damn business. Nevertheless he breathes deeply and continues. “Kento-kun doesn’t need more uncertainty in his life. If you have any type of feelings, is better for both of you that you resolve them before you talk to him.”

“He keeps pushing me away…” By now is almost a mantra. And Fuma goes back to staring at the floor even though Yamada stands up.

“That can be hurtful to you for a number of reasons.” Yamada’s voice is hesitant, like he is trying hard not to sound lecturing. “Find yours,” he says, and then walks toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns around, talking a little fast, like he wants to get something out of his chest before he loses his nerve. “And, Fuma-kun? I pushed away everyone, because I thought nobody would understand, because I thought they’d judge me. And the person I pushed farther away was the person I cared about the most… because he loved me and I was convinced I didn’t deserve him.”

And then Yamada is gone, and the stain on the floor Fuma is staring at is still there, and everything else is chaos.

***

“I bring a peace offering,” Fuma says to the intercom, and even though his voice sounds heavier than he had intended, at least it doesn’t shake, so he considers it a success. “Please open the door. It’s banana split and is melting.”

To his surprise Kento buzzes him in, and the door isn’t closed when he gets to his apartment.

Fuma feels like it has been ages since he last was here and Kento eyeing him warily as he toes off his shoes also contributes to his feeling of being a stranger, even though he actually helped Kento moving out of his parents’ house and into this apartment, eternities ago.

He leaves the bag with the dessert on the table and goes to the kitchen to fetch two spoons. Thankfully, Kento is sitting down when he comes back, the slowly melting ice cream dessert out of the box and on the center of the table.

They eat in silence, and this would be uncomfortable even without the tightness in Fuma’s stomach that almost prevents him for eating at all. And even so, Fuma thinks, this tension is better than outright rejection.

“You were right,” Fuma says after some spoonfuls of ice cream, and he has no idea why he is whispering, but then he clears his throat and tries to speak as casually as he can. He isn’t used to admitting that he is wrong about things and his voice seems to know it too, a little shaky in spite of all his effort. “About today, I mean. I was out of place… I’m sorry.”

“I just… ” Kento begins to say, softly, and Fuma misses the light behind the voice so much it hurts, so he has no option but to interrupt him.

“I’m sorry that I yelled. I’m sorry that I made it difficult for you…” Fuma says, unable to meet Kento’s eyes and gripping the spoon so hard he is not so sure it won’t bend. “And I’m also sorry that I wasn’t there for you all this time, that I let you push me away. I’m sorry because I was a crappy friend and I let you drive us apart when I should have fought you and never let you do it. I’m sorry that I was so hurt…” Fuma forces out but his throat tightens and every one of his cells rebels at the idea of admitting to this in front of Kento, when he has barely admitted it himself before. But he just swallows, wills himself to keep talking. “That I was so hurt that I couldn’t see you were suffering too, that I couldn’t help you… that I couldn’t protect you…”

“Fuma, don’t…” Kento’s voice sounds cracked, and Fuma just doesn’t have the courage to face it. Not yet. Not until he says everything he came here to say.

“I know I have no right to ask you anything… I can’t say… I can’t ask you to stop, because I can’t understand it and I don’t know why you need it… but… ” Fuma chokes a little, everything too tight and the world pulsating around him because this is just the hardest conversation ever and Fuma can understand sweaty fidgety Yamada too well when his own face is burning from desperation and no little bit of embarrassment. Then he lifts his eyes at last, and is Kento before him, _his_ Kento, fighting tears and failing, and suddenly talking is a lot easier. “Please, please let me stay beside you...”

“I tried you know? Tried to stop, so many times I lost count...Even before, when it wasn’t so bad, and I just… It’s no use…” Kento’s head drops a little, and Fuma inevitably looks at Kento’s wrist, at the heinous wristband and everything it implies. 

“Why…?” It’s out of his lips before Fuma can stop it, and the way Kento snaps is proof enough of his mistake.

“Because I’m a coward, okay? Because is easier.” The hatred Fuma sees in Kento’s eyes is not directed at him, is not directed at anyone; it just isn’t outward. “Because sometimes everything is just too much and at least this is a pain I can control, and for a while it makes it all go away…”

“I don’t know what to do…” Fuma whispers, so soft he isn’t sure he even says it aloud, but then Kento looks at him. “I want to help you. Please, tell me how I can help you.”

“Why?” Kento all but mouths at him. 

And maybe he should have listened to Yamada after all, because he is damn confused and his head is spinning with how fast his heart beats and the way the world just seems to be tilted at the wrong angle, and Kento is looking at him like Fuma is his last hope, stark naked _need_ plain all over him, and there is not enough air in the whole universe, there is not enough blood in his veins, there is just panic and longing and everything in between because, _because_...

This feels like jumping into an abyss, only worse, adrenalin pumping wildly, and he has to order himself to breathe because nothing seems to be working as it should and even keep on sitting straight is a struggle.

“Because I care,” Fuma says, his voice as wobbly as his whole body. “Because you are important to me. Because you are beautiful, and smart, and the most caring person I’ve met in my life. And you don’t know it. And you need to know it.”

“Why?” Kento repeats, and it’s not even a challenge, it’s Kento trying to cling to a lifeline and his eyes are filled with sharp bits and pieces of everything that hurts him, all the pain that needs an outlet, all the shame at needing it. 

There’s no chance of lying, no space for keeping quiet. And Fuma breathes a terrified breath, because he can hide nothing, not from Kento, not from himself.

“Because I love you.”

Fuma has heard of epiphanies and revelations, the unexpected light at the end of the tunnel and the euphoria of enlightenment, but still the sudden force of the feeling takes him aback. It feels too right, too real, and everything makes sense all at once; the pain and the loneliness, the hurt, the sense of almost abstinence. He feels lightheaded, but that also could be because he isn’t breathing properly and he knows it. And the air is still heavy around him and Kento is still looking at him with a million of razor-edged feelings showing in his eyes.

And maybe this was a bad idea, even if he just can’t force himself to feel wrong about this, despite the pure and unadulterated panic that rises up his throat; because this just isn’t the place or time to shove his newly discovered feelings at his best friend, because Kento might already have enough to deal with as it is, and maybe he doesn’t need Fuma’s unrequited and inadequate love to feel even more guilty about. Because maybe this could have been a really nice time to start thinking about things before doing them or saying them.

He is starting to feel guilty himself, starting to feel that he should ask Kento to forgive him and forget about all this, but then Fuma looks at him, looks closer at the myriad of flashes and shadows projecting unfiltered across Kento’s face, and maybe he dares to hope.

“Don’t…” Kento says, his words desperate and his body shaking. “Don’t say things like that just for pity…”

“For fuck’s say Kento!” and Fuma might just laugh now, because frustration has never been something he is good at dealing with. “Do you really think I would say something like this if it wasn’t true?!”

“I don’t know… I think you might say anything in this moment to make me feel better,” Kento whispers, but there’s color in his cheeks, and the atmosphere has radically changed, so much that Fuma can feel it, feel the electric undercurrent. And there’s hope, for him, for Kento, for all the fucked up mess that they have been through so far.

Fuma stands up, and he is so nervous that he is trembling again, but he doesn’t mind, he knows how to walk straight even when he is a shivering mess and even look cool while at it. The way around the table feels eternal nonetheless.

“How long have you known me?” Fuma asks, and is not rhetorical. 

“A lifetime.” 

“Then think again,” Fuma says as he crouches down in front of Kento and takes his left hand, careful with the wristband and all the pain below, guides it slowly till is pressed over his hammering heart.

“Fuma…”

“I don’t want to trouble you more; the last thing I want is to become a burden for you. And I know this is sudden, and I’m sorry, I don’t want to impose my feelings to you, you don’t have to do anything about this… just… let me be by your side.” Fuma’s cheeks are on fire again, and he can't quite look at Kento in the eye. “Please.”

“My life is such a mess… I don’t want you to drown in it,” Kento whispers, withdrawing his hand from Fuma’s chest to fidget with the hem of his shirt.

“I won’t,” Fuma says, vehemently. He wants to touch Kento, to hold him close, but he doesn’t know how much he’s allowed, how much would make Kento uncomfortable; so he just grabs the end of the seat of Kento’s chair to keep his balance. “And I meant it when I said I wanted to help you. You still are my best friend, you will always be.”

“You don’t know what you are saying…” The self-deprecation is back on Kento’s voice, subtly, and it grates on Fuma’s nerves.

“Oh, please! Kento, I’m not fourteen anymore! I’m a fucking adult!”

“And you are also straight as an arrow!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“That you can’t love me the way I do and that you never fucking will!!” Kento snaps back, and maybe Fuma should worry about Kento’s neighbors and the volume his and Kento’s voices are acquiring, but he is too exasperated for anything else other than yelling. Then Kento looks at him, all barriers coming up again as he keeps on talking, making Fuma seethe. “And you should stop-” 

But Kento never gets to finish the sentence, because Fuma grabs his face with both of his hands to keep him from backing down and kisses him.

He doesn’t mean to be rough, but frustration fuels him and Kento’s unexpectedly pliant lips after a really short attempt at fighting him feel as soothing as gasoline over fire. Fuma is getting dizzier and dizzier with each passing second, his body seemingly unable to deal with the way his heart is beating.

He threads his fingers into Kento’s hair, chases Kento’s tongue, and somehow manages to raise a little and straddle Kento’s lap without breaking their kiss. And this is no longer about getting some point across, no longer about making himself be understood, not when he can feel Kento’s heat through the material of Kento’s jeans and his own pants, and even if he is not aroused it feels too damn good to be a mistake.

Their tongues keep clashing and rubbing at each other, and Kento sounds half approving and half desperate, and maybe Fuma should stop now, because he is starting to feel a telltale tingling between his legs and this isn’t really the place or the time for that.

Kento is panting when Fuma breaks the kiss, his hair is a mess and Fuma’s fingers are still tangled in the soft strands, making it messier. Fuma thinks he could get used to this really quick.

“When I say _I love you_ ,” Fuma begins, his voice really rough, “I don’t mean it as a friend, though I’d be your friend and only that if that’s what you need.” Kento’s stare is scorching hot, intense. He is clinging to Fuma’s every word and Fuma really hopes he can reach him this time or he really will have to punch him. “Don’t underestimate me or the way I feel, Kento.”

“So you suddenly love me?” Kento says, a little incredulous, but there’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“It’s not…” Fuma can’t quite find the words to explain to Kento that the realization was the only sudden part in all this. “Isn’t it enough? To know that I do… isn’t it enough?”

“I just… I spent so much time fighting what _I_ felt…” Kento is trembling, and it hurts Fuma, because he somehow knows that this was a factor in Kento’s behavior; he doesn’t understand all of it, but he understands enough to know it. “I don’t know if I can do this, Fuma…”

“The only thing I am asking is that you don’t push me away anymore, that you lean on me when you feel overwhelmed. I want you to know that I’m not judging you, and that nothing that you do could make me judge you,” Fuma says, then breathes in hard. “I’m not asking that you give me time you don’t have, I’m not asking for attention, I’m not even asking you to love me back...”

“But I do, you idiot!” Kento’s voice is laced with tears and laughter and it makes Fuma’s soul sing. “I can’t turn off what I feel for you, I never could. I love you, and I’m terrified.”

“Stop fighting then. Rest for a while,” Fuma says, circling Kento’s shoulders with his arms. “You don’t have to figure it out today, you don’t need to figure it out _ever_ , just let me be with you…”

“Do you even know what you are getting yourself into?” 

_Probably not_ , Fuma thinks, but if he can be by Kento’s side, he is willing enough to find out. So he just kisses Kento’s forehead, and dares to smile.

“Don’t be scared,” Fuma says, softly raining kisses all over Kento’s ruffled hair. “I am here for you.”

“We’ll see,” Kento whispers, but there are no walls in his voice, and is Kento accepting Fuma’s feelings even if he isn’t saying so.

And it’s a start.


	2. Battle born [Epilogue]

There are still bad days.

Lots of them.

Love isn’t a magical potion, and Kento should know it, he _does_ know it; but he still wishes this was easier just by having Fuma beside him.

“Let’s end this,” he said to Fuma one of the first times, guilt pulsing in the form of an open wound high on his hip. Somehow, relapsing after almost two months of going without felt worse than ever before.

“No,” Fuma answered. And it was final. 

They made love that night, sweet and slow, but that only helped to deepen Kento’s guilt.

The next day Fuma came back from work with a slightly wore down presentation card with a name and a phone number for a psychologist's practice on it. It wasn’t a request.

At least, Kento doesn’t think about breaking up again since that day.

There are lots of not-so-good days too, but Fuma is always by his side.

There are days he feels bad about it, well aware that he is using Fuma, that he is using sex to keep himself from seeking release in other ways.

He tries, oh how he tries, numbing himself with work and study, getting himself so tired that he can’t feel anything; that he just barely gets home before falling asleep. But it’s not enough.

And maybe Fuma is becoming his new addiction, maybe he is trading one vice for another and this is just as sick and twisted as everything else, maybe he does taint everything he touches and maybe it is true he doesn’t deserve Fuma’s love.

Because he still can’t understand _why_ Fuma wants to be with him, why is he willing to follow him into this dark distorted maze full of shattered mirrors and sorrow; because _'I love you'_ isn’t enough, not in Kento’s eyes, not for dealing with this messed up confusion that is his life, no matter how many times Fuma says it is.

But Fuma doesn’t hurt, not in the sharp way Kento is used to, and the way Kento’s heart soars and his blood rushes in his veins when Fuma kisses him feels good, and it helps him focus, helps him pull through the clouds of pain in his mind.

And Fuma kisses every one of his scars, all the battles that Kento has lost, and he calls him beautiful, calls him _perfect_ , and the fervor in Fuma’s eyes is so profound that thinking this is a lie would be heresy.

So, Kento lets himself fall into it, tries to see himself through Fuma’s eyes and let their fire consume him, chase away all the monsters, and even if he knows that this is not enough to keep them at bay forever, that he has to learn to fight this battle over and over again on his own two feet, maybe it is a start, even if he knows he will fail again and again many times before he can overcome this for real; because Fuma’s fingers are on his hair and Fuma’s hands help him take care of his wounds and his love for Fuma is slowly taking over all the space in his soul, leaving less and less space for guilt or self loathing in it.

And maybe this dull pain is enough for now, maybe the pleasure is enough for now, especially when Fuma is inside him, and his lips are messily kissing him, and all around the air tastes of them and their moans combined, and Kento’s name on Fuma’s lips is like a prayer, and there’s nothing else on Kento’s mind, nothing else at all, just Fuma.

There are some good days; few, precious, full of light.

Because love is not a magic potion, but maybe therapy, and care and Fuma’s stubbornness with Kento’s combined can be a working formula.

And even if he never had any right to ask for this, even with the way he hated himself just for _wanting_ this in the past, even with all his faults and the entire struggle, Fuma loves him.

It’s enough to keep trying.


End file.
